


A Traitor In Our Midst

by Shadow_Chaser



Series: Letters Home [14]
Category: Assassin's Creed, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ben's skill level as an Assassin is slowly growing, Gen, Of all the Benedict Arnold DLCs - Mission 1 & 3 are the only ones that happen in this continuity, Rated T for Ben's abilities to shoot through Redcoats/Cowboys, Rated T for Connor's abilities to mow through Redcoats/Cowboys, pre-Benedict Arnold DLC - Mission 1 "Traitor in Our Midst", rewrite of Benedict Arnold DLC - Mission 3 "A Spy Among Us", s03e08: Mended, s03e09: Blade on the Feather, s03e10: Trial and Execution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-18 22:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7333465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Chaser/pseuds/Shadow_Chaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The TURN/AC version of the Benedict Arnold DLC missions spanning Episodes 8, 9, and 10 of Season 3 of TURN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Assassination Plot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Legume_Shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legume_Shadow/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Episode 8 “Mended” and pre-Mission 1, Benedict Arnold DLC - “Traitor in Our Midst.” Ben's interrogation of the Tory prisoners from Stony Point reveal a dangerous second plot that was to be enacted after the death or capture of General Washington – the assassination of Benedict Arnold and capture of Fort Westpoint. Washington reluctantly contacts Connor to prevent such a thing from happening.

 

Ben suppressed a shiver from the early spring thaw. He shifted his feet, hoping to warm himself by continuing to move around. He knew he could have stood by the warm fire that was crackling next to the house that they were using as a waypoint, but Ben wanted to be able to see Connor's approach. And it meant from anywhere. There was the safety risk of having the Continental Army's Commander-in-Chief out here, with only two of his lifeguard, two of his aide-de-camps – Hamilton and the Marquis de Lafayette – and Billy, but Ben was mostly certain that this rendezvous spot was not compromised.

Connor had said that it belonged to one of the allies of the Brotherhood who housed some of the convoys coming and going to Davenport Manor and after the initial scouting that Ben and Caleb had done, it proved true. Said owner was currently helping them brush down their horses after their arrival. He was a weathered old man who had sharp keen eyes, but proved his trustworthiness by only taking their horses and not even saying a single word.

“Do ya think Connor'll come?” Caleb asked, bring Ben out of his thoughts as he glanced over to see him absently fiddling with his custom flintlock that he had taken from Sackett's barn a little over a year ago. The weapon had served Caleb well from the stories that he had heard from him.

“I hope so,” Ben rubbed his hands against the slight chill in the air. This year's winter was clinging like a burr to the changing of spring weather. But he did not mind it as much as he was still flush with the victory in taking over Stony Point and also of the interrogation that yielded the latest actionable intelligence. The only issue was that he could not undertake such a mission, as his name and reputation was starting to be known throughout No-Man's Land – this latest victory at Stony Point was sure to garner more attention.

Plus they needed someone who was familiar with the land and Westpoint was near the Iroquois Confederacy territories if not bordering it. Ben and his 2nd Light had seen combat patrols through Westchester, but he had been confined to that region and rarely went northward due to the Tory and British military presence that occupied his attention at that time. When Ben had proposed sending a message to Connor, Washington had been extremely reluctant, even after Ben had told him of their meeting at Moodna Creek. But his commander had eventually relented and sent the message. Neither one of them expected Connor to answer the missive, but Ben held out a small amount of optimism for the Assassin.

Caleb had been the one to deliver the letter to a drop point in York City. He claimed that on his way out to Oyster Bay after Abe had refused to be broken out of Sugar Hill, a helpful lass by the name of Dobby Carter had come to his aid to avoid the patrols and to get out of the city. He had followed that with the fact that it did not help that Carter had tried to kill him first for acting like a somewhat suspicious redcoat officer poking around things. Ben had nearly groaned in exasperation from that comment, reminding him greatly of what Caleb had done under Abe's orders to the elder Townsend afterwards. He still could not believe what had happened, but was mollified by the bruise on his friend's nose and the fact that it had been Townsend who had thrown it. It seemed the Ring was back and amends had been made.

Ben could only hope that this plea for Connor's help would make amends on that front. Assassin goals or not, Connor was a stalwart ally and a boon, but Ben knew that if their alliance was to be renewed, the other man would have conditions. Ben had his own conditions too, but he was willing to let Connor speak his piece first since he was the wronged party. Hamilton was already familiar with Connor as was the Marquis de Lafayette. Billy was there not only because he was Washington's manservant, but out of all of them – including Washington's lifeguards, he had actual Assassin training under Nathaniel Sackett. Ben felt that his own skills did not count nor compared to the hidden lethality he knew Billy possessed. The somewhat frightening thought was that Billy hid it so well that when Washington had ordered him to discreetly train with Billy after Monmouth last year, he had not realized how _good_ Billy was. It proved how unassuming he was at just playing his part of Washington's servant. Billy was the last line of defense in case Connor decided to use this meeting for revenge, but Ben was hoping it would not come to that.

It was why he was also walking around the area – he wanted to be the first to encounter Connor and ascertain his intentions before even letting him get near Washington. A quick glance back to where Washington and the others were told him Billy was doing the same, albeit in a smaller, tighter circle. Connor's letter only indicated the day in which he was agreeable to meet Washington, but not the hour. They had arrived early in the morning, having set out before the sun had risen in camp. Now it was nearing midday and Ben hoped that Connor did not keep them much longer. The early spring thaw, even with winter's hand still clinging onto it, meant that he would be moving the army soon. Whether or not to take back York City or move further south, due to the increased presence of the French Fleet, Ben did not know, but what he knew was that the plot against Arnold had to be stopped this very moment.

He himself still respected the General, but his initial giddiness had waned since the General had all but disparaged his comments for the lavish ball he had thrown. Ben had initially wanted to apologize, but he followed his instincts and listened carefully, hearing about Washington's approval for Arnold's court martial, reading the charges and expenditures to him, amongst other things about his character. Like Sackett's death had taken the initial romantic notions of espionage from him, this new information about Arnold had done the same. But he would not, could not fault the fact that Arnold was one of their best commanders and they needed to do everything to ensure that he survived.

“He seemed a bit friendlier than the last time, though in a nice shiny stabby kind of way,” Caleb commented in an off-hand manner and Ben only rolled his eyes at his friend's comments. Still he could not help the smile that appeared on his face at the small joke that was said.

“What,” Caleb smiled back, “you know it's true. Every time I see him, he's cutting through lobsterbacks like wet parchment.”

“Not all Assassins are like that,” Ben started, but then made a face, “okay, most of them are like that.”

“Yeah, except you. You just end up shooting through them like wet parchment,” Caleb slapped him playfully on the shoulder as Ben sighed and nearly groaned.

“Caleb...”

“Just kidding Benny-boy,” his best friend said, “not gonna lie though. We keep handing you musket after musket, and you'd probably do it.”

Ben acknowledged his friend's words with a shrug. “I suppose...” he knew Caleb wasn't wrong in his assessment, but Ben also did not like to brag about his skills that had been handed down to him and Samuel through their father. He still regretted the fact that he had missed Liam Griffith and instead, only downed Alexander Mayfield during their escape attempt after Monmouth.

The distant neigh of a horse down one of the paths leading to the house stopped Caleb from making another comment. Ben put a hand on the butt of his pistol as Caleb did not even bother and drew his out, his finger brushing the trigger that would send forth a spring-loaded bayonet hidden underneath his custom pistol. A few seconds later, Ben relaxed a little at the familiar sight of Connor riding towards them.

He noted that the Assassin's outfit nearly blended him among the brown of tree bark, and it was only the movement of his horse and the fact that his hood was pulled down that Ben had been able to spot him. He supposed that was the point seeing that Connor had on a tan-colored coat with the light blue trimmings that denoted French colors instead of the dark blues of Continentals. He wondered if the Marquis de Lafayette had furnished Connor with his new outfit. He had seen the two conversing in low tones after Monmouth which indicated that the two knew each other. Lafayette had also been vocal in his agreement with his proposal to give the mission to Connor after he had suggested it. It was not that he was jealous, but rather hoped that with Lafayette here, Connor would see reason and accept the mission instead of outright rejecting it since it would be Washington who proposed it. If that was the case, Ben was glad that the Frenchman was here.

“Connor,” Ben raised his hand in greeting and got a silent nod in return as the Assassin pulled his horse up next to him and dismounted. Ben grabbed the reigns of his horse for him, but did not miss the sheer amount of weaponry that had been exposed under the longcoat Connor wore. A tomahawk was hidden underneath, his sword visibly on his waist, but what surprised him the most was the unusual looking pistol that held three barrels, more than likely allowing for three shots at once and Connor wore two of them on him. He also noted the small pouches, one of which made for a curious sound when knocked a little that sounded like miniature cannon balls. He also noted the small thin rope-like daggers that hung more towards his back and small hollow-pointed needle-like contraptions that he knew from his father's toolset were poison darts. He also noted the bow and pack of arrows on Connor's back. All of this and Ben knew that the deadliest of all of the weapons was not even visible – the hidden blade on one of his forearms; hidden beneath layers of clothing.

“I hope we did not interrupt a mission of import,” he said lightly as he led Connor's horse, and saw the Assassin give him an arched, but neutral look. Connor knew that he had seen the large amount of weaponry on him.

“Your Commander always summons me to do his dirty work for him,” the native Assassin replied a little icily, “it's best to come prepared.”

“You're not wrong about that,” Ben shot a dark look at Caleb's quiet reply, but blinked a little in surprise at the sudden brief smile that appeared on Connor's lips. He shook his head inwardly – at least Caleb and Connor found some kind of neutral ground. He was also proud of his best friend to elicit some kind of reaction other than cool indifference from the reticent, somewhat-volatile Assassin.

As they approached Washington, Ben nodded once to signal to the others that Connor had no intentions of attacking and out of the corner of his eye saw the native give him an unreadable look before quickening his footsteps. Lafayette and Hamilton stepped back to give him room to talk to Washington in semi-privacy, but Ben was glad to see Billy hang a little closer – both as his duties as a servant, and also as Washington's closest bodyguard. The two members of his lifeguard kept their attentions faced outward for any visible threats beyond the small circle that they made.

Ben walked Connor's horse just a little closer than the circle Lafayette and Hamilton made, enabling to hear what was happening, but not enough that he was considered an intruder or eavesdropping on their conversation. The horse whickered and made nibbling movements towards his helm to which he pulled out of the way of its teeth and instead, patted it absently on the cheek.

“How dare you call on me after Monmouth,” Connor's voice had not risen, but it contained a lot of disdain and anger in it.

Ben watched as his Commander-in-Chief only frowned before handing him a small piece of paper, “I have no one else to turn to.”

Connor took the paper and broke the seal, scanning the contents quickly as Washington continued, his voice neutral and giving no hint of any emotion. “The intelligence that's been gathered warned me that Westpoint has been infiltrated. I believe that they intend to murder Major General Benedict Arnold.”

Connor folded the paper back up, “I still do not see why you need me.”

“The loss of such a figure, would be devastating to the cause,” Washington looked rather reluctant before Ben caught a look directed at him. He frowned as he also saw Connor glancing at him before the two resumed their conversation with each other. “It must be done without my soldiers' knowledge.”

It hit Ben then the hidden reason why Washington had not given him such an assignment. In his capacity as head of intelligence, he was able to conceal a few things, but Congress needed his reports along with that of Washington's and since he was a military commander, he had to file reports on every single one of his actions. The one to assassinate Reverend Worthington had been labeled an accident, but his injuries sustained by Gamble's shot had been recorded as part of military scouting.

“The mere idea of the Patriots being breached would be crippling to morale, to the war,” Washington continued, “will you do it?”

Ben held his breath, watching Connor closely. If he said no, then Ben knew that he would have to take some kind of action regarding the intelligence they had gotten from the interrogated soldiers from the Stony Point raid. It would have to be listed as part of a military report and it would make Washington's efforts to stop the assassin or assassins from killing Arnold a lot harder. For one thing, Ben would have to go in disguise again, but the stakes would be infinitely higher – the area around Fort Westpoint was heavily contested territory and the latest reports from Colonel Jamieson said that the Tory 'Cowboys' and Patriot 'Skinners' were far more vicious than those of the contested territory in Westchester. It would be an extremely dangerous mission for Ben. It was not fear that prevented him from accomplishing his mission, but rather the lack of skills needed to do such a thing.

It seemed Connor came to the same conclusion or some conclusion as he leaned in towards Washington, a little closer than Ben liked – but Billy made no movement – so Ben forced himself to relax, and hissed, “It will be done. But _never_ call on me again.”

With that, the Assassin abruptly turned and stalked towards Ben. He quickly stepped to the side as Connor swept up the reigns of his horse into his hand and with one fluid movement, mounted the beast and kicked off, heading away from them at a gallop.

“Well,” Caleb ambled over and absently flicked the spring-loaded bayonet on his pistol out, “that went rather well.”

Ben could only nod in mute agreement. At least Connor was amenable to helping Washington one last time.

 

~END~

 


	2. The Road to Treachery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3, Episode 9 “Blade on the Feather” and fusion of Mission 3 – Benedict Arnold DLC “A Spy Among Us.” Robert Rogers finds an uncommon ally in Connor in his quest for vengeance against John Andre, while Connor finds that Rogers knows a little more than he's letting on and that their pasts intersect.

There had only been two times Connor could remember sleeping so deeply that nothing could seemingly wake him. One was when he had first arrived at Achilles' house after driving off the bandits that sought to steal from him. The other was in a very blurred memory in his mother's arms. She had been singing a lullaby of sorts and he remembered falling asleep to the sound of her voice, the smells of burning firewood, and the warmth that protected against winter's chill. Ever since those two times, Connor always slept lightly – even more so now than ever before. His Assassin instincts, honed through the years of training and the war, made him a very light sleeper and so when the distinct whistle of cannon-shot sailed through the air Connor's eyes were already snapping open of their own accord and he sat up from the tree branch he had nestled himself into for the night.

He immediately turned his head towards the sound and saw in the half-moonlit darkness the shape of an anchored ship in the distance, before the cannon ball landed with a loud splashing sound near it. Connor blinked – that ship had not been there when he had fallen asleep and must have only arrived recently. Several more cannon shots whistled in the air as they landed near the ship. He could see the distant forms of sailors scurrying about its rafters, hastily untying the sails and the ship rocking about, coming around to sail back down river.

The clouds parted for a moment, letting the full moonlight shine on the ship and Connor raised a silent eyebrow in surprise at the sight of the ship's British colors before the moonlight waned. What was a British ship doing up here so close to the fort? He had seen the chains that ran across the length of the Hudson River, the smaller Patriot-held fortifications that dotted the area. He had heard from the soldiers stationed at the Fort that the British sometimes sent ships up to see if the chain could be broken, but no ship dared to go that close to the chains for fear of ruining their ships.

He wondered if the ships were related to the mission Washington had given him – to hunt down the assassins who would end General Arnold's life. The General himself was a boorish man, dismissive and prone to a volatile temper that even Connor disliked. But he had accepted the mission and had spent the last few months hunting down the assassins. There had been four in total, and the last one had been killed within the main fort itself. It had drawn Arnold's attention and that was when Connor had met the famous General. He had not explained his mission about Washington sending him, but rather made allusions to a plot against his life. Arnold had taken it with more stoic countenance than Connor had initially given him credit for, but any goodwill he had developed for the man shattered when Arnold requested that he help around the fort and had even expected him to do so without any complaint.

Connor had been close to turning around and telling the man no before heading back to the Homestead – having been away from it for far too long, especially after receiving some news about the Old Man's condition – but stayed because he needed to be sure that there would be no more assassins sent after the General. He had considered just letting Arnold die just to spite Washington, but when Washington had made his request, the fact that Tallmadge had been there made Connor pause. It seemed like Tallmadge had made the initial suggestion to his commander before Washington decided to bring him in, and for that Connor was somewhat reluctant to help.

To him, Tallmadge was a fool who would not let go what had already been gone, but he would not fault the man in charge of Washington's intelligence for being dogged in his pursuit of his goals. He had also clearly understood the significance of the look Washington had shot at his head of intelligence when he had been giving Connor the mission. If Connor had not agreed, then Tallmadge would have been sent. He had no qualms about the man's abilities, but he also knew that the man would not be able to easily ferret out the assassins. It was a question of skill and while Tallmadge had skills in other areas, hunting a prey as deft as an assassin was definitely not one of them. So he had taken the mission.

Connor watched as a few more shots rang out before he decided to see what had happened at the northern outpost to warrant so much cannon fire. Pushing himself from the branch, he landed onto the ground in a crouch and stood up. The mild summer weather had given way to an early fall and the cold was already nipping at him. He headed silently towards the Continental outpost that was nearby, keeping to the scrub and evergreen bushes that dotted the landscape. The Continentals had somewhat accepted his presence here at the Westpoint area, and were not prone to attack him, but he knew that they viewed him with suspicion. Ever since the disaster with the perceived attack on his tribe a little over a year ago, the region had cautious contact with the other members of the Confederacy.

Most of his brothers and sisters fought for the British, but there were one or two tribes that fought for the Continentals. He understood their worry even though he had pleaded with the tribes to stay out of the war. So he stayed in the shadows of the brush, not wanting to draw attention to himself in the dead of night.

He arrived at the outpost in short order, abandoning the low ground for the comfort of the high branches that dotted the area and perched on one that was still leaf covered. One of the larger branches extended out towards the small officer's hut that was situated in the area and he climbed out onto the limb, curious to see three so-called Continentals, 'skinners' being the term for the motley garb they wore, arguing unsuccessfully with the ranking Colonel who was still buttoning up his uniform – having clearly been awakened in the middle of the night. The soldiers manning the garrison's cannons were cheering and pointing to the British ship that was sailing away.

“You've done your duty now get out of here,” the Colonel – Jameson if Connor remembered correctly – seemed annoyed and waved his hand at them. Connor could see that the men were not too happy, but nonetheless complied and headed away from the camp.

“Arnold's not going to like this,” he heard Jameson mutter as he turned back to head to his hut, shivering against the night's chill, “and Washington will demote me when he comes here and finds out...”

Connor had to admit that he was not surprised to find out Washington was arriving. He supposed that the lack of contact he had with the commander of the Continentals since he had accepted the mission may have troubled him. But he also thought that with Arnold more than likely sending Washington reports, the other man would have realized that his beloved General was still alive. Nonetheless, it was not his problem as he decided to follow the three skinners that had reported the appearance of the British ship.

Skinners were not exactly soldiers, but they did help the Continental cause. They were more highwaymen than soldiers and Connor had a few run-ins with them while he had been hunting down Arnold's assassins. One of which had been a skinner. Another had been in Jameson's camp – which made him suspicious of the man – one in one of the regular Continental patrols, and the last one was clearly a messenger between the various outposts who had taken advantage of his status to try to get close to Arnold.

All of them had died without telling him who had hired them and that had frustrated Connor the most.

The fact that the three skinners had been able to see the British ship and actively report it made him suspicious. Was there to be a fifth plot against Arnold? He followed the three silently until he spotted them pausing, seemingly skulking and saw ahead of them a rough-looking man who had a scruff of a beard, and a sharp demeanor about him. Connor crouched on branch he was on as the man peered through his spyglass towards the departing British warship, seemingly not even paying attention to them.

“You can come out now,” the man suddenly said, his voice rolling with the droll of an Irishman, not quite as heavy as Connor had heard in parts of Boston, but distinct.

Connor watched as the skinners moved, hesitant, wary, but all with frowns on their faces.

“ _You too, little tree-hopper_ ,” Connor nearly fell off of the branch as he heard the man speak in his native tongue, and stared. He saw the heavy-set man look up at him, before winking, clearly indicating that he could see him. Connor frowned and reluctantly pushed himself off of the branch. He landed in a crunch of leaves, startling the skinners. The three whirled around, muskets twitching in their hands before the heavy-set Irishman held up his hands.

“Now, now, no need to get so twitchy lads,” he said and Connor saw the skinners look between the two of them.

Connor stood up, holding his hands outwards, showing that he was not going to provoke them and saw them lower their muskets a little. They were still wary, but Connor did not blame them. He instead, addressed his next words to the heavy-set man, “You saw me.”

“Aye, I did,” the man replied, “Robert Rogers at your service, tree-hopper.”

“Connor,” he said, but instead of nodding and accepting his name, the man – Rogers – shook his head, a wolfish smile on his face.

“No, that's the name for a white man. What's your real name, boy?”

One of Connor's eyebrows rose in surprise. Rogers was proving to be a very interesting man. Almost with the hint of lethal grace he had seen in Haytham, but otherwise had the same affable nature. He had heard of Robert Rogers, both within the Continentals and outside of it. Rogers had been a legend among his people, having taken time to study their methods of hunting and using it to great effect in the war against the French around the time Connor had been born. He was considered 'friend' among some of the more war-like tribes that made up the Iroquois Confederacy, but his own tribe, the Haudenosaunee had been decidedly neutral towards Rogers. Connor had not understood why until he had met his father and realized he was a Templar. Considering how his mother was treated by the rest of the tribe from time to time – he was well aware that his mother shielded him from a lot of it – he was not surprised that Rogers' name and reputation was considered neutral by his tribesmen.

Still, it was not every day that a white man refused to call him by the name he had given to them and so decided to humor Rogers. “Ratonhnhaké:ton,” he said, wondering if Rogers was going to give up like Achilles had and instead use Connor.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton,” Rogers' pronunciation was a little mangled, but Connor was mildly surprised at how _well_ it had been, “good name. Strong name, has history behind it, but that's a story for another time, eh, boy?”

“Perhaps,” Connor inclined his head once as Rogers focused his gaze on the three skinners who were still looking a little surly.

“Time to pay up,” one of the skinners spoke up, resting his musket on his shoulder, “you said if we reported the ship you spotted to the Continentals, we'd be paid. Well, we ain't paid and we want our money.”

“You'll get your money soon enough,” Rogers turned from them and peered through his spyglass again, the wolfish smile back on his face, “you've just made an investment in your future boys.”

“Come again?”

“That ship that just left? Well, he left his most precious cargo. Treasure, lads, treasure,” Rogers said as he shut his spyglass and turned back to face them. The heavy-set man gestured to him with his chin, “That treasure also might hold the answers you've been looking for.”

Connor stared at him, skeptical.

“You find that treasure, a man with really fancy boots and who looks so out of place, you bring him to Jameson unharmed and I can guarantee that you will get paid. Go on now,” Rogers waved his hand at the skinners who seemed to mull over his deal before reluctantly moving away. He met their suspicious stares with a steady gaze of his own before it was just him and Rogers left.

“ _When I first arrived, I heard rumors of what happened to some of the skinners and Continentals here. Didn't realize that it was one of your kind, and I mean it in both your kind as in natives and that_ other _kind, was active here_ ,” Rogers started in his people's language and Connor's eyes narrowed. Did Rogers know about the war between the Templars and Assassins?

“ _I worked with a few back in the day. Never really picked a side, but seen both sides go at it from time to time. Nasty, ugly business this war you've been fighting since time immemorial. But, I know enough not to interfere in a hunt,_ ” the other man shook his head and held up his hands, “ _if you're still looking for answers to your hunt, I am sure the man that ship abandoned can provide you with answers_.”

Connor was sure that that Rogers knew of the war, but it seemed was wise enough not to get himself heavily involved. In a way, it reminded him of Tallmadge, who knew of the war, but wanted no involvement. But it seemed Rogers was a little more mercenary than the altruism Tallmadge had showed. He knew that the man had lead the Queen's Rangers before being replaced by a Captain Jonathan Graves Simcoe, and the Rangers themselves were sworn to money. Judging by how these skinners reacted to Rogers and the promise of payment, Rogers had used their mercenary ways to cajole them into finding the so-called lost 'treasure' that the ship had left behind. Still, he was rather impressed with Rogers' demeanor and insistence on speaking to him in his tribe's language – even though it was somewhat mangled.

“I am sorry Ratonhnhaké:ton for what happened to your village _,”_ Rogers switched back to English, his voice neutral, but expression grim, “your people do not deserve to be held by either side of this war for supporting the safety of your people. But I can tell you, that man, the one holding the answers. You take him to Washington, he will remove him as a potential threat to your goals. Might lead you to one of your other goals too, if I heard rumors correctly.”

Connor stiffened. He had been putting out the word that he was searching for Charles Lee since his court martial last year. It stood to reason that perhaps Rogers had heard of those rumors, but how would he know unless- “You've met the person left here before,” he stated and saw Rogers smile a little.

“Aye,” the man nodded once, his smile a little predatory, “and it was a well-met meeting indeed. But why tell you everything when you can find out on your own.” He looked towards the direction the skinners had left in, “Better hurry, boy, those skinners. They're in for the coin, but they do get jumpy at times.”

Connor only snorted and started to climb up the same tree he had perched on. He would be able to catch up to skinners in no time, but Rogers had a point. Men who fought for only coin and were not promised coin tended to be more volatile. If the skinners decided that whomever had been left on the shore by the British ship was not worth the money, then Connor would not get the answers he wanted.

“If you do find him, boy, please let him know Robert Rogers says a cheery 'hello',” he heard Rogers speak up as he disappeared into the leafy tree tops.

 

~END~

 


	3. Allies in Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3, Episode 9 “Blade on the Feather” and the beginning part of Mission 4 – Benedict Arnold DLC “The Battle of Westpoint.” As Ben realizes General Arnold's treachery, he and Connor race to stop him. However, it seems Arnold's paid men off with what little coin he has left to stop pursuit and make good on his escape.

The man had identified himself as one John Anderson. Connor did not believe for one single second, it was not an assumed name. But the documents he carried made no other mention of any other name and so Connor had to content himself with watching the man like a hawk as he and the three Patriot skinners escorted Mr. Anderson back to Jameson's outpost. The documents that Anderson had upon his persons were puzzling in nature. The pass from General Arnold he understood, but the other document – detailed plans for Fort Westpoint? That made Connor uneasy.

For one thing, he walked as if he had been _bred to arms_ a term that Connor had not learned until the first shots were fired at Lexington and Concord. Revere, for all of his loud-mouthed shouting had helped him evade a few patrols during their midnight ride across the countryside. He had spotted officers that were dressed in civilian clothing – ostensibly for off-duty purposes, but officers nonetheless. Revere said that militiamen, but more so British-trained military men had a gait of sorts that showed whenever they walked. Connor had taken the time after the battles to watch the coming and goings of the British holed up in Boston before they had evacuated and saw that indeed – officers could be easily identified in civilian clothing from the way they walked. But the same could be said for some Continentals, especially those like Washington or any of his higher ranked Generals.

Achilles had made mention that it was the lack of the so-called _bred to arms_ that allowed Assassins to easily blend into crowds. But he also cautioned that some Templars had the ability too – case in point, his father Haytham. Assassin-trained, Templar-raised, he knew the skills in and out and what the Brotherhood utilized.

Connor had a feeling that Mr. Anderson was an officer, but he could not confirm his suspicions without coming across as suspicious to the skinners – thereby making them more liable to shoot him. They were already uneasy with his presence and he had heard more than one derogatory muttering to each other as they had escorted Anderson back to the outpost. He could have easily subdue them and then demand his answers out of Anderson, but Connor knew that any sign of bodies, any indication that there was a fight or even the discharge of a musket, would send the whole region on high alert. It would have made his mission a lot harder.

The Continentals readily controlled the various outposts and riverside forts that made up Fort Westpoint, but they did not control the paths that led to each outpost. That was neutral territory and crawling with hostilities from both skinners and cowboys. He knew that the skinners were more familiar with this part of the land and had a semblance of organization among themselves, which put him at a disadvantage. No, Connor knew he had to be patient – the business with this Mr. Anderson would sort itself out. If there was a fifth assassination plot against General Arnold, he would ferret out the man's secrets in due time.

But his current attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation between Jameson and Anderson was proving fruitless. For one thing, Anderson seemed reluctant to talk about whatever familiarity or knowledge he may have imparted from General Arnold. He was also prone to talking about nonsensical things. Nothing overt to indicate whether or not there was a fifth plot against Arnold and it seemed Jameson was content to let the matter be. The officer had not seemed inclined to accept the fact that there had been an assassin hiding among his own division here at the outpost, ready to assassinate the General should he happen by after his first inspection of the fort itself. In fact, he seemed rather disinterested – which made Connor suspicious. Was Jameson and this man Anderson in collusion against Arnold?

Connor had rifled through the man's reports as best as he could whenever he was not inspecting troops or sitting at his desk to write said reports, but they held no information. They were not even written in any code he could decipher. He knew that something was amiss, but could not place what it was and it was starting to frustrate him. Achilles' lessons in patience was grinding at him and Connor was starting to wish that he had not agreed to undertake this mission for Washington months ago. He wanted to go back to the Homestead to check on the Old Man, to make sure that he was comfortable and in relative good health. He was not blind to the fact that Achilles was getting old and age had finally caught up to him.

He supposed that his only consolation was that Washington was arriving soon – though there was no confirmation of a date of sorts. Connor did not want to wait at the main fort with the odious General Arnold, but he knew that once Washington made his presence known he would tell him that he was done with his mission and to leave the rest to Tallmadge and go home. Connor felt frustrated and exhausted and there was no new lead of any kind he could extract from the mysterious Anderson – even though Robert Rogers had obliquely mentioned it. He was beginning to suspect that Rogers just wanted him to do his dirty work – much like every person who had seen him and knew of his skills.

The neigh of a horse coming down one of the paths to the outpost pulled Connor out of his dark thoughts as he looked up from where he was hidden in the shrubbery to see the familiar blue and gold uniform of Major Tallmadge arriving. Washington must have arrived already if Tallmadge was here, Connor surmised just as the door to the cabin that was Jameson's office opened and closed. The daily messenger that ran reports between the outposts to give to Arnold seemed unhurried and unconcerned.

“Ah,” he heard Tallmadge exclaim as he saw him side step the messenger, “those must be the reports to General Arnold, right?”

“Yes sir,” the messenger nodded, briefly knuckling his forehead in a quick salute.

“Hmm...kind of a waste of time,” Tallmadge muttered mostly under his breath, but Connor caught the man's words with his sharp hearing and frowned.

“Sir?” the messenger looked confused.

“No, nothing, go about your business. I'll get a verbal report from Jameson,” Tallmadge easily dismissed the young messenger and Connor's suspicions rose again. If the reports were being sent to Arnold – which meant that Washington was probably staying at the main outpost and also receiving the same reports – why would Tallmadge be here? And even comment on the redundancy of his own presence?

Something did not add up.

He saw Tallmadge enter, the door closing behind him before the sounds of introduction were met and some other words exchanged. Anderson's sonorous voice spoke up in polite greeting, though there was a strain of sorts that Connor heard – much different than the genial conversation he had been having with Jameson earlier. Connor stood up from where he had been hiding and moved to the corner of the small cabin as the door opened and both Tallmadge and Jameson stepped out, Tallmadge with an intense urgent look on his face. Connor caught the quick, but subtle flicker of surprise on the other man's face at his sudden presence, but it seemed Tallmadge had mastered himself to not react in an overt fashion. He could not help the sudden small swell of pride at how fast Tallmadge seemed to be learning since they had last met. The man was not even a fully trained Assassin, yet was learning quickly about the craft in his own way.

“...tell me something, sir. Did it not occur to you that one of the skinners over there was wearing royal officer's boots? And that he had come in wearing nothing but his stockings?” Tallmadge asked in a quiet hiss.

Jameson's face seemed paler than usual, his eyes wide with growing astonishment, “S-Sir...I...I have to tell you that p-plans of Westpoint were found on his persons...signed by General Arnold himself....”

Connor stiffened as an immediate change came over Tallmadge's posture. Gone was the suspicious urgency in which he had talked and dread was quickly replacing it. Connor looked back and forth between the two Continentals – Tallmadge knew something that none of them did before the man suddenly stabbed Jameson with a finger hard in the shoulder.

“ _Keep_ him here,” he hissed, “he is not to leave camp until I or General Washington sends for him.”

Without even a second word, Tallmadge brushed past the startled officer and headed straight for his horse. Connor pushed himself off of the corner of the cabin and hurried towards the young dragoon.

“Tallmadge,” he called out and saw him swing up on his horse, not even bothering with his helm.

“Lieutenant, give that man your horse,” Tallmadge ordered curtly to two officers passing by with their horses. The officer blinked once and looked like he was going to protest giving Connor his horse, but with an icy glare from Tallmadge, reluctantly handed him the reigns and Connor took them.

“We need to get back to the main outpost. General Arnold is a traitor and a spy,” Tallmadge sounded livid and the roiling unease that had been plaguing Connor for the last few months since he had arrived at Fort Westpoint resolved itself into a clarity that made sense. He nodded once as he mounted the horse and spurred it, quickly following Tallmadge away from the area.

It made perfect sense now, the assassination attempts, Arnold's dismissal of said attempts on his life – four times no less. He must have hired those assassins himself to make it look like he was being targeted while keeping his other activities under cover. He also probably had not expected Washington to send someone like himself – someone who could easily foil an attempt. Arnold must have met or somehow gave plans to the mysterious John Anderson, still sitting in Jameson's cabin, under the cover of cannon fire last night. But it seemed that while Arnold might have tried to neutralize his interference by pretending that there were more plots against his life so that he would be focused elsewhere, he had not counted on Tallmadge's intuition or suspicions to investigate himself instead of relying on reports.

And now...they had a traitor to stop.

* * *

Ben could feel that something was wrong, something that made him uneasy as he and Connor rode through the heavily wooded and hilly area that made up this part of contested territory. In his initial ride, he had been aware of the fact that both cowboys and skinners, Tory and Patriot-leaning bandits, were roaming the area, but they had not made their presence known. Now, as he and Connor rode back, he could not help but feel that they were riding into an ambush. He did not know what made him feel that way, but a niggling sixth sense of sorts – the same one that warned him of someone watching him during the winter days in Wethersfield – told him otherwise.

That sense resolved itself as Ben abruptly pulled on the reigns of his horse, the beast whickering and neighing in displeasure at being manhandled in such a rough fashion. He heard Connor do the same as they both halted a few feet away from a small group of men dressed in a motley assortment of colors standing in the middle of the road. It _was_ an ambush.

“Major Tallmadge I presume?” what he assumed was more than likely the leader of the group spoke up, shouldering his rifle a little.

“You are in Patriot-held territory, sir. This is considered part of Fort Westpoint and-” he started, but stopped at the mirthless smile that appeared on the man's face as he shook his head.

“We know. And no one else ain't coming, Major,” the man replied, “the gold we've got...well...”

He realized that the men weren't Tory cowboys at all, but rather Patriot skinners that had been paid off to either ambush or distract him. Ben narrowed his eyes as anger started to fill him. “You are impeding the apprehension of a traitor to the cause-” he stopped again at the movement of the man's rifle, watching it swing from his shoulder to his hand where he tapped it in obvious warning.

“Tallmadge...” out of the corner of his eye he saw Connor pull his horse in front of his own, half shielding his view of the skinner – or rather now Tory cowboy as he thought of them for taking such a bribe from either Arnold or Andre – and seemingly protecting him.

“Connor-”

“Tallmadge,” the Assassin stated again before gesturing with his eyes downward.

“You being friendly with natives now, Major?” the skinner leader crowed, but Ben ignored him and discreetly looked in the direction that Connor had indicated and saw the three-barreled pistols Connor wore on the back of his weapons belt. And he had an excellent unobstructed access to them based on Connor's movement.

“I cannot protect you,” Ben warned the Assassin under his breath as he understood what Connor wanted him to do. The Assassin apparently had heard of his skill with rifles and guns and so thought it would be prudent for him to use the weapons he had with him to great effect. Ben thought otherwise – with Connor in front of him, it covered his actions, but as soon as he drew the pistols and fired, the others would not hesitate to fire back – and Connor being in front of him would take the musket fire for him.

“You need not worry,” the Assassin's golden-brown eyes gleamed with a feral nature that Ben remembered seeing the night he and four of his men had been ambushed in the woods by him.

“What are we planning hmm? Grimms, Billy, go relieve the Major and his native friend of their weapons-”

Ben pulled the first three-barreled gun, that looked almost like a duck's webbed foot, and fired it in the face of the two cowboys that had advanced towards them. The gun went off with a tremendous bang, but Ben wasted no time in sliding off of his horse, grabbing the other one off of Connor's belt just as the Assassin lunged from the saddle of his horse towards the nearest soldier, tomahawk extended. There was a faint pinging sound and something seemingly green washed across Connor's form as the others fired at the Assassin, but the balls were seemingly repelled by an unknown force.

Ben rolled onto the ground and came up on one knee before firing the other gun, watching with a small amount of horror as three barrels worth of blunderbuss buckshot blasted into two more soldiers, sending them flying back into the ground. Blood and fleshy matter flew through the air. Ben spat and wiped at his eyes at the blood that got onto him as he wasted no time and scooped up one of the rifles that had been dropped to the ground.

The others scattered and Ben could see Connor lunging at another two, slamming his tomahawk into the face of one before pulling it out and throwing a knife into the gut of another. He finished off the wounded man with a shot from the rifle he borrowed and dropped it. Ben's sixth sense screamed a warning and he ducked, just as the tree behind him splintered from the force of a musket ball. He saw the skinner-turned-cowboy leader hurry to reload as the rest of his men fired at Connor who ducked or used one of their own as human shields.

Ben scrambled across the woody ground and found the other dropped rifle, pulling it from the dead man's hands. He turned, kneeling on the ground as he pulled down on the hammer. He hoped that a ball was already primed in it as he saw the leader bring his rifle to bear on him at the same time he did-

Ben fired, waiting for the sudden bloom of pain to tell him that he had been shot, but as the brief smoke cleared the air, he saw that his shot had been true. The leader's sneering expression was a permanent death mask as he saw that a neat hole had appeared in the middle of his head. The blood had not even started to drip down it as the man crumpled to the ground, dead.

“Tallmadge, go! I got this,” Connor shouted, his voice rough with exertion and Ben looked to his left to see the Assassin leaping towards the remaining cowboys, stabbing one in the face as he rolled his body to the ground before coming up in a crouch with his tomahawk extended. It slammed into the thigh of an unfortunate cowboy who screamed in pain before being abruptly silenced by a side blow with a knife in Connor's other hand.

Ben scrambled to his feet and hurried towards his horse who had bolted a little when the shooting had started. Mounting the beast, he spurred it and galloped away. He had no compunctions about leaving Connor, his fears on leaving an ally alone to face so many people quashed with what had just happened. Connor had proven himself time and time again that he was able to handle himself and Ben knew that at this point, he would only be in the Assassin's way as he did his deathly dance with the remaining cowboys. Likewise, he also knew that Connor was letting him apprehend the traitorous Arnold even though it had been he who had undertaken Washington's original mission to protect Arnold.

He had a traitor to catch, and if not, to execute.

* * *

The coins jangled in a small pouch that Connor had found on the former Patriot skinner leader's body. It was British poundage and considering that it was worth more than Continental dollars at the moment, it was clear that these so-called Patriot skinners were far more mercenary than he had given them credit for. They were also proof that Arnold had more than likely used the last of his coinage to bribe these men to stop him and Tallmadge from seeking him as he tried to escape.

He pulled his horse to a trot as he saw the main fort of Westpoint coming up and saw that the guards were on alert. He knew they had to have heard the gunfire in the woods. There was no sign of Tallmadge, nor did he hear any indication of gunfire that would tell him of Arnold's execution, so Connor supposed that either the other man had caught up to the traitorous general and had apprehended him or he had missed him entirely.

“Connor!” he saw the Marquis de Lafayette suddenly step out from the protective walls of the fort, waving a gloved hand at him before he nodded a greeting.

The Marquis waved back as he turned and hurried deeper into the fort. Connor had no doubts that the Frenchman was more than likely notifying Washington of his arrival. The General was the last person that Connor wanted to see, still feeling a little testy for having agreed to undertake the mission – but even more so now that he discovered that there was the potential that it had been Arnold himself who had hired those assassins to kill himself just to throw off any trail of traitorous thoughts or actions.

Connor heeled his horse to a walk as he saw the Marquis return with Washington, Hamilton – another one of Washington's aide-de-camps and whom Connor had met on occasion – and Tallmadge's shadow, a Lieutenant Brewster if he remembered correctly, walking behind him. He could see the grimness on Washington's face as they approached him and knew that Washington had discovered Arnold's treachery.

Connor finally pulled his horse to a halt, just as a lone single report of a gun being fired in the distance echoed across the area. He immediately turned to where the sound had come from – the docks to the river crossing. The shot must have been from Tallmadge, but there was no other sound that indicated he was under fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Washington and the others had also halted, Brewster looking back and forth between him and down the path towards the docks.

Suddenly the red-haired Hamilton broke away from the group and headed back into the fort. A few minutes later, Connor saw the other man ride out, cantering down towards the path where the docks were. Connor considered following him out of curiosity, but did not know why he waited, sitting on his horse in the green grassy grounds that stretched between the fort and the woods.

Minutes passed in silence before Connor first spotted the familiar blue and gold uniform of Tallmadge. His jacket and breeches were covered in flecks of blood from when he had shot the soldiers at close range with his duck-footed pistol, but the man's eyes were bright with anger. Hamilton was riding next to him, a pinched expression on his face and Connor immediately knew that Tallmadge had not been successful in apprehending or killing General Arnold.

Connor spurred his horse to approach the fort once more, timing it so that he arrived at the same time as Tallmadge and Hamilton. The three of them dismounted and Tallmadge immediately bowed his head a little towards Washington.

“I'm sorry to say, sir, that the traitor was able to escape custody,” Tallmadge sounded far angrier and more furious than Connor had ever heard him. Something had happened, he realized, something had happened between Tallmadge and Arnold; and along that vein of thought, Connor wondered – had Tallmadge deliberately allowed Arnold to escape?

“I was able to confirm it, sir. Arnold has made good on his escape. He sent this back with the riverboaters he had ordered to row him to the _Vulture_. I've taken the liberty to detain them until they can be questioned, sir,” Hamilton produced a small messenger pouch to which Washington took it. Connor could see that the General's expression was as disgusted as ever as he flicked a brief look at him and at Tallmadge.

“I want to know what happened,” Washington's voice was quiet, but Connor could hear the furious anger in them. “Connor, Major, please come with me,” he spun, his cloak whirling around him as he headed back into the cabin in the main fort.

For a moment, Connor considered not following the order, but pushed it aside and followed Tallmdage in. If Washington wanted to know what had happened, then Connor would tell him plain and simple. The man needed to hear the blunt truth – that it was his own arrogance, his own fault for not heeding the words of the Assassins and others around him that something like this had happened. Arnold was Washington's own mistake. And Washington let it happen.

 

~END~

 


	4. The Hanged Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3, Episode 10 “Trial and Execution” post-Benedict Arnold DLC. Ben and Washington discuss recent events and possible future alliance with Connor. Takes place after the Culper meeting between Anna, Caleb, Ben, and Washington and before André's trial.

 

The glow of embers slowly dying in the fire was oddly soothing in Ben's opinion as he hunched forward and watched one particular spark ebb and flare on its last dying breaths. It looked like it was trying to fight and survive and somehow, Ben wondered if it was a sign of sorts – a sign of the Culper Ring itself. Even with André's capture, the biggest risk now for the ring was that Arnold knew of the name Culper, but still did not know whom he was or where he was located. He had no doubts that Washington's offer of a trade for Arnold was to be denied – hence his impassioned plea mere hours ago to his Commander-in-Chief to set an example with André and hang him as a spy. He knew of the man's request to be shot as an officer, but Ben had no sympathy for him.

The man had eventually confessed to being a part of General Lee's turn as a traitor, though claimed no affiliation or knowledge of a man named Haytham Kenway. That particular question bothered Ben a little more than he liked, but as far as he could tell – there was truth in André's words since he knew he was to be a dead man and had been freely confessing his transgressions.

“There is truth to Major André's words, Tallmadge,” Connor's quiet voice spoke up just as the Assassin sat down near him around the small fire. “He has no Templar ties, though he was associated with known Templars.”

“Lieutenant Gamble,” Ben kept staring at the dying ember, watching it flare brigh t yellow-orange before fading to a red-orange color. “Lee...Hickey, probably a few others.”

“He has said as much about Lee's whereabouts and considered him a failure after Monmouth,” Connor sounded exhausted and Ben finally pulled his gaze away from the ember to stare at the Assassin. There was no new sign of blood or exertion on him from his questioning of André that he could tell, so he surmised that it must be a mental affliction of sorts.

“I'm sorry,” Ben apologized and saw the Assassin snort, shaking his head a little.

“André heard of the Templars and Assassins, but only through associations and business connections. He had no interest and was amenable to telling me what he knew of Lee's whereabouts,” Connor offered and Ben blinked, puzzled before it occurred to him what the native meant.

“You mean to say that he and I are alike,” he saw the Assassin shoot him a brief look and nod before turning back to stare at the fire.

Ben was about to deny it, but paused, considering his words. There was truth to it, but it seemed that he had come out the victor in this case. Ben had crossed into British territory more than once, both in uniform and out and knew how dangerous it was. He supposed the only advantage he had was that he knew the lay of the land and trusted his instincts and training that his father had instilled in him. In this case, he had been luckier than André who had little to no experience outside of his uniform and going undercover. Connor was right, the two of them knew of the Templars and Assassins, but decided for reasons of their own to only use the resources they provided to some advantage, preferring to fight the war on their own terms. Except André lost.

“Will you stay?” he asked the Assassin after a moment of contemplative silence.

“No,” Connor shook his head, “André told me that he last heard that Lee was in Fort George in York City. I mean to find some way of breaching it.”

“I understand,” Ben had seen the fort during the evacuation of York City and supposed that with the British now occupying it, they must have made its fortifications stronger than ever. He had heard rumors that the fort itself was unable to be attacked head-on, its garrison numerous and heavily armed. Even for an Assassin of Connor's caliber, Ben knew that he would have to carefully plan his attack.

“Washington asked to see you,” Connor suddenly said as he stood up and Ben scrambled to his feet. He was surprised by the native's words and it must have shown on his face as a faint smile appeared on Connor's face. “We have come to an impasse,” the native explained, “and your Commander understands that I will not offer my services again for as long as this war rages on.”

“T-That's, that's...I understand,” Ben stuttered, unsure of what to say before he saw Connor extend a hand out. Ben reached out and clasped it, feeling the man's firm grip and the power behind it.

“You may have denied your heritage, Tallmadge, but your heritage will not deny you,” Connor said, “I call you brother, and wish you well in your future hunts.”

Ben had little knowledge of native custom, but he knew that what Connor had called him and said to him was extremely significant and nodded. He had to offer something to the man – to tell him that he had appreciated their time working together. The thought occurred to him not even a second later, “Connor, if you need any information, any help with Fort George, do not hesitate to ask.”

He could not offer the services of the Culper Ring since he nor Washington knew whether or not Townsend would return to their fold, but he at least could offer his own skills to helping Connor. It was also an offer that told Connor that even though he would not use his skills for the Patriot cause, that the line of communication was still open – that information could be shared. And it seemed Connor understood it as well as he nodded once and released his hand.

With that, the Assassin turned and walked away, disappearing into the line of pitched tents and soldiers milling about. Ben tried to spot him, but could not and smiled to himself as he turned and headed back to Washington's main tent. He could not deny the Assassin's ability to blend in with the crowds so easily – to become so unassuming in a camp full of soldiers or even in a crowd of civilians.

He nodded greetings to the two Lifeguards that were outside of Washington's tent and entered, holding the flap open to let Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton out who was carrying a small stack of papers and several books. The Colonel bid him a quick thanks and grateful nod and Ben watched him head to the tent where André was kept. Hamilton had studied law at King's College before war had broken out and was to defend André at the military tribunal. There was no doubts about André's capture, so Ben knew that Hamilton was going to argue to the tribunal to be treated as an officer instead of a spy. But André's actions elicited no sympathy from Ben and he tried hard to not harbor any ill will about Hamilton's preparation for the tribunal. After all, they were all officers and gentlemen and each one of them would have been presented with the same option should they have been captured.

“Sir, you requested my presence?” he stepped in and let the flap hang close behind him. He saw Billy in the corner, putting a few things away while the Marquis de Lafayette was sitting at another desk, his quill moving fast. He supposed the Marquis was more than likely writing letters to the other French commanders, especially to Admiral de Grasse of the French fleet. They had only recently arrived and it had been intelligence that his ring had received that saved them from an ambush by the British.

“Yes,” Washington had been looking over several pieces of letters and set them down when he had spoken up, “your arguments for setting an example has been heard, Benjamin. Though there will still be an official tribunal held for Major André, I will recommend to the board that they decide to try him as a spy for his actions.”

“Sir?” Ben was a little confused as to why his Commander-in-Chief was telling him this. He knew that as ranking officer, Washington's opinion would be taken with some serious weight, but it was ultimately up to the board to decide what to do with André. There was no need for Washington to tell him this unless-

“Ah,” he realized what he meant based on what Connor had just told him, “a message needs to be sent.”

“Yes,” there was something that looked like pride in Washington's eyes and Ben felt warmed by it. He was starting to finally understand the shadows and words that his General had been trying to make him understand for the last few years since he had become his head of intelligence. “I also mean to draw out any other elements that Master Kenway might have hidden away. André might not have been a Templar, but his connections to them are undeniable.”

“Sir,” Ben knew that he was more than likely in no position to ask such a question, but he also knew that if he did not ask, it would bother him until the end of his days, “if I may speak my mind?”

An interesting expression flitted across Washington's face, almost like the one that Ben had seen his Commander wear after he had tore into him about setting an example with André. He had to admit, when that had happened, he had let his anger about everything override his sensibilities – but at that time, he had thought his Commander was too taken in with the polished, urbane, and gentlemanly nature in which André had conversed with them.

“Please,” his Commander seemed to wear a mild expression and Ben licked his lips before proceeding.

“You mean to make a statement to the Templars,” he did not concern himself with the Marquis' presence since the man had all but proven that he knew Connor and more than likely knew of the Assassins and Templars. “But what of your use of Assassins such as Connor, Mr. Sackett, and even Billy?”

“And yourself?” Washington countered and Ben ducked his head, blushing a little.

“Sir, I am not-”

“Your skills prove otherwise, Benjamin,” Washington interrupted him in a gentle tone, “even if you had explained your reasoning for Arnold's escape to the _Vulture_. Granted, it is his own personal hell he has created, and I understand the shock and nature of what had transpired before, but you cannot deny your growth in skill with firearms and of your actions.”

This time, Ben could not keep the blush hidden as he felt his face warming quickly. He looked up and saw his General gesture to the Marquis, “I mean to make a statement to the Templars because it seems the Assassins understand my message already. Lafayette has provided me with some interesting knowledge regarding the Templars and Assassins in France itself.”

“ _Oui_ ,” the Marquis set his quill down and turned, his youthful face bright and energetic, “in my homeland, the Templars and Assassins have actually come to an impasse, an agreement of peace between them. While I am not a part of them per se, politics and family history, I do have friends and allies among the Templars and Assassins themselves in France. This peace was achieved with a medium of growth and support that could not allow France to thrive as it has now. The monarchy listens with both ears and both sides and their goals are considered with a thought to the needs of its people.”

“There isn't a war there?”

“There is, but those of the aristocracy understand that they are rabble rousers, peasants who deny the peace that the Templars and Assassins achieved, those who do not understand that this war can be stopped,” the Marquis explained and Ben stared in surprise. “It is complicated,” the Marquis looked a little troubled, but shook his head, “but nonetheless, peace can be achieved between the two factions.”

“And it seems the Assassins understand this more than the Templars,” Washington continued and Ben nodded.

He would have never thought of the day that the Templars and Assassins could actually achieve a modicum of peace, but the Marquis was saying it was a goal that was not so lofty or above the heavens. He understood Connor's words now, to remove himself from helping Washington, to not directly interfere even though there had been anger towards Washington in the beginning. That reasoning had changed now and Connor knew that American independence was not dependent on the hidden war between Templars and Assassins. With Washington's recommendation to the board of inquiry, it would be sending the same message to the Templars.

Maybe, after André's execution, they would be finally free of any Templar or Assassin influence. Ben could only hope, but silently kept his counsel on the fact that he had offered Connor any help in hunting down Lee. It was, after all, what he owed the man who had helped them so much over the last couple of years.

 

~END~

 


End file.
